


Let's (Not) Keep It Between Us

by shepherd



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: Bottom!Thorin, M/M, Male Slash, The Hobbit - Freeform, Thilbo, bagginshield, bilbo baggins - Freeform, thorin oakenshield - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 03:02:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The company ask too many questions, Bilbo says something foolish, and Thorin has issues. Bilbo/Thorin, Bagginshield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's (Not) Keep It Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> Because there is not enough bottom!Thorin on the internet. Not sorry (okay, a little bit)

The first question, unsurprisingly, came from Kili. And it all went rather rapidly downhill after that.

  
The young dwarf seemed to be in a fantasy world of his own creation at first, lost in some dream, or simply sinking in his thoughts. His features were completely blank and relaxed, his dark eyes vague, with his empty cup clutched in his hand. It was the first time Bilbo had seen a dwarf with an empty cup, and it unnerved him. He may have been a little drunk- if any of his kin could get drunk. If a hobbit was to drank as much as they, he would be long gone, face down unconscious in a ditch somewhere- but the way he kept deathly still instead of wavering unsteadily and stayed silent instead of slurring random unnecessary insults told Bilbo a different story. Kili sat quietly next to his boisterous elder brother, his dark hair often appearing almost scarlet and gleaming in the firelight, the shadows flickering and casting darkness over his youthful face.

  
Bilbo was quite worried about the dwarf, but none of their companions shared his apprehension. Not even Fili. The blonde laughed rowdily, smirked with cocky confidence, shouted clever, quick comebacks to his friend’s jests. Occasionally, he turned to check on his sibling, but oddly he only grinned wolfishly when he saw how silent he was. Humour shone in his eyes, as if he knew the nature of Kili’s silence and found it interesting or laughable. He often leant in close to him, close enough for them to feel each others breath, and muttered something private to him, clapped a heavy and playful hand on his shoulder. Kili always jumped, spooked at the sudden touch or voice, and sometimes mumbled a tiny reply. Fili always beamed at the answer- then his attention would promptly be stolen, torn away with even more raised voices, calling out curses and lewd, bawdry suggestions.

  
If Fili suspected nothing, perhaps this behaviour was actually common? Kili appeared to be a curious young dwarf, judging by the odd, potentially worried expression he had on his face when they first met. He remembered their deep, polite bows, and the tight smile the youngest offered him. Bilbo had decided not to ask- it was likely private, after all, and it would be rude to ask. A Baggins was not rude.

  
After ten minutes of Kili’s thoughtful gaze into the blooming flames and Fili’s sly smiles, Bilbo wishes his reserved and respectable blood let him be rude enough to pry inside their privacy after the dark haired brother finally glances up, his eyes suddenly blazing not with the reflection of the dancing fire, but with fierce curiosity, and asks, not entirely to just Bilbo, “What’s he like in bed?”

  
After a single moments bewildered hesitation, the hobbit jerks, surprise flooding him. He drops his spoon into his stew, a now lukewarm and faintly slimy pale mixture with some slices of carrot, leaves of cabbage and the odd chewy chunk of some questionable, unknown meat. Some splashes on his waistcoat, but he doesn’t notice until much later. He stares at the suddenly vocal dwarf, his eyes nearly comically wide as patters of varied laughter begin to sound nearby. Fili chuckles, a deep and endearing sound, while Bofur, slightly alarmed, lets out a few breathy laugh like sounds. The others, bar Thorin, guffaw and kick their feet out, stomping and snorting with their laughter. Ale sloshed out of their cups, spilling onto the floor and staining their fur, making it sticky and wet.  
It took a moment for Bilbo to summon the courage and the strength to speak. “Pardon?”

  
Kili quickly snapped his head around to stare in the other’s direction, and while Bilbo was temporarily distracted with the way his wild hair whipped and the way the fire gave it sheen, he tuned into to hear his demand. “What’s Master Baggins like in bed?”

  
His jaw slacked. “I beg your pardon?” He repeated himself, at loss of what else to say. He listened intently, but heard no protest or complaint from Thorin- not a peep. The others remained rambunctious, leaning forward, listening attentively, eager grins on their faces.

  
“We were discussing this earlier,” Fili clarified, that smirk still curled on his lips, and there was a sinking realization over just why he looked so amused. “And by the sound of things, it’s been stuck in my brother’s mind ever since.”

  
The hobbit narrowed his eyes defensively, huffing at the two. Humiliation burnt him, but he tried to stay calm and salvage just a little of his dignity. He tried to be frank. “Is it really any of your business?”

  
The dwarves only laughed even more at that. He liked the fact they were such a jolly lot, rarely seeming to feel pessimistic over anything- the echoes of the song of the Lonely Mountain came to him then, a harsh reminded of what the cheerful lot had lost, but he pushed it aside, trying not to let the haunting melody return to him- but he didn’t like the fact they seemed to laugh at his expense.

  
“We’re just curious,” Gloin spoke up, teasing him. “Curious about a lot of things.”

  
Bilbo turned and stared, finding Thorin sitting far to his left, almost hidden amidst his company. He said nothing, in no way encouraging them but in no way warning them off. His dark eyebrows were narrowed and his eyes were harder than usual, but he refused to look at his lover. His gaze swept over the group, gliding over Bilbo himself with ease, and ended up on his nephews, who shuffled up closer together and leant towards the hobbit, identical smiles now on their handsome faces.  
“So? Tell us,” They urged, ignoring Thorin’s fairly harsh gaze. “We want to know everything about you and our uncle.”

  
Bilbo almost spluttered, but managed to contain it. Pleased with himself, he allowed himself one tiny, tight, but vaguely smug smile. He shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ll be telling you anything, actually.”

  
There was a twin whine from the two, and Kili pouted. His once straight posture slumped a little, and his eyes grew pleading, like a child denied a sweet, or attention from a favoured relative. “Why not?” Then he quirked his head to the side inquisitively. “Unless Uncle hasn’t found it in himself to taint out sweet little burglar?”

  
Thorin had found it in himself, certainly, but he wasn’t about to tell them that. “It’s private. Why would you want to know about your uncle’s sex life, for goodness sake?”

  
The brothers looked delighted, and Bilbo faltered as he realized he had just confirmed that they actually had a sex life. He was just about ready to drown himself in his soup.

  
“We won’t tell anyone.” Fili insisted. “We just want to know if our uncle actually can let go and have fun once in a while! We‘ve never known about him having a proper relationship before- obviously he’s had one, but he’s kept them damn good secrets.”

  
“I can’t think of why he wanted to keep them a secret.” Bofur said, sarcastically and mirthlessly.

  
“All of you are listening.” He pointed out, arching an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t tell anyone, they’ll just hear me telling you.”

  
“But we have a list of questions.” Kili whined, crossing his arms against his chest and huffing. Many others made noises of agreement, and this time, Bilbo did splutter.

  
“A list?!” He burst, his voice a little hysterical. He cursed softly, probably the tamest language the dwarves had ever heard, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. His head pulsed softly, his temples felt tender, and mild pain made his head throb- all the signs of a headache. An irritated sound fell free of his throat. “I have a headache.”

  
“Is that the only place you ache?” Someone said slyly, someone who sat nearer Thorin, and before Bilbo could deny the lewd accusation they were making Kili grabbed his attention by shuffling closer, moving from the patch of dirt he sat on and scooting forward, until his knees were almost brushing Bilbo’s.  
“Is there any fetishes we should know about for a start? Like…” Kili’s eyes fell down, staring at Bilbo’s feet. The hobbit sat cross legged, and under the dwarf’s harsh gaze, he became hyperaware of every physical difference between dwarves and hobbits. He shuffle in his seat, drawing his feet underneath him carefully, making sure they couldn’t be seen. He scowled up at him.

  
“I-” He began, but Kili cut across him once more.

  
“What’s the best you’ve ever had?” He asked bluntly, and Bilbo was aware of Fili mimicking his brother, moving to lounge on his belly beside his brother. He planted his elbow into the ground, resting his cheek in his gloved palm. “What is hobbit courtship like?”

  
“Are hobbits as hairy as dwarves?” Ori was sceptical. “You look like a human babe rather than a middle aged hobbit.”

  
Fili’s voice is a deliberately smooth, seductive drawl. His smile is mischievous. “Can we share?”

  
At long last, much to the hobbit’s relief, a friend steps in to help him. Thorin’s reactions are finally vocalized. His low possessive growl rumbles through the company, quiet, but dangerous. The other dwarves quiet their snickers and the calling out stops, but a few titters and snorts escape behind their hands, cups, or for some, their braids. Bilbo glances over, relieved, and the King simmers. His grip on his own bowl is tight, and his jaw is set in a hard-line. His glare is frosty and his spine is rigid. Fili turns his head, and meets his uncle’s gaze head on.

  
“You go too far.” Thorin tersely and simply says to him, and his deep voice is full of authoritative power. The silence comes back, and the company waits. After a pause, Fili bows his head, lowering his eyes in an almost demure fashion. It’s clearly an apology and a promise, and it is accepted. Thorin shifts in his seat, and nods himself, giving a barely audible grunt. He turned back to his bowl, carelessly mixing it but seemingly having little appetite. Fili lifts his head once more, and shoots his brother a careful look. The two seem to have a silent conversation, and the blonde shifts on his stomach, sitting up in a less casual, more respectful position. He doesn’t bother brushing the dirt off his front.

  
Hating the tension, Bilbo clears his throat and tries to start again. “I don’t particular want to discuss this with you.” He hopes that this will be the end of it, especially with Thorin’s careful eye on them, but of course not. That would be far too easy for him.

  
Kili threw back his head and almost barked a laugh while his brother simply chortled, likely still wary of his uncle’s wrath. “Come, Bilbo, we’re not exactly asking if you scream every time he takes you.”

  
Bilbo’s eyes blaze, his cheeks grow hot, and that infamous Took blood boils in his veins. Something akin to rage builds in his belly. And fierce words slips from his mouth, so quickly he has no time to realize just what he is about to say, how it might affect Thorin, and certainly no time to stop himself and backtrack. He says it so loudly it echoes in the clearing, and his voice is a snap, like twigs underfoot or crackling in the fire. He says it, and the dwarves are silenced.  
“Who says I’m always the one who’s being taken?”

  
There’s a long pause, and it’s terrifying. Everyone stares, their eyes temporarily blank, directly at him. For a split second Bilbo is still furious, and he’s glad he’s finally silenced them, but the Took leaves him to this trouble, and the worry and apprehension appears. He tries to stammer some words, and he can’t bring himself to look at Thorin. He drops his eyes to his bowl, seriously considering drowning himself in the mixture, willing the ground to open up and swallow him whole. Resentment lingers in him, anger towards the twins who simply talked to much. It’s so quiet he can hear wildlife in the darkness of the forest around them. There’s birdsong, a sweet trill, and the sound of bushes softly rustling, likely a deer. It makes the already awful silence even more horrific.

  
The first reaction is from someone to his left, nearer Thorin, either some brave soul or one with no sense of control. He tries to muffle his giggle, and the sound swiftly snaps the tension in two. The silence breaks, and other dwarves risk themselves, joining in with the chuckles. It sweeps across the company like a disease, and the soft chuckles turn into side-splitting cries and the occasional whoops. There’s even a wolf whistle, and someone says ‘Your Majesty!” in a playfully scandalized fashion. It reaches Bilbo’s side, and Kili splutters and he almost tears up. Fili roars alongside him, covering his face with both hands. Bilbo keeps his head down, fishing out his spoon and nervously fiddling. It isn’t the first time he wishes he could change the past.

  
It takes forever to end, but eventually, one of the quicker dwarves finally realises that mocking their leader may not be such a good idea. It’s one thing to make fun of each other, and another to tease one who wasn‘t kin, but something completely different to infuriate a king. Bilbo has to summon his courage once more, and peeps at Bofur, pointedly ignoring his lover. Bofur isn’t laughing. The hobbit drops his head again quickly.

  
Fili, the most sensitive to his uncle, is the next one to realise, and he abruptly elbows his hysterical brother. With a few jabs, a hush and a pointed look, Kili is paled and silent. Hearing the laughter die a terrible death, the other dwarves quickly catch on.

  
Silence.

  
Someone clears their throat, and everyone flinches. “Good weather we’re having.” Bofur says loudly, but weakly. “At least it’s not raining again, like the nights past.”  
It’s awkward and it’s hard, but after several attempts at conversation starters and wary jests, conversations come back to life and people start smiling again. There’s no singing, no yelling, and there’s nary a mention of women or bedding. Thorin never speaks, and nor does Bilbo. Fili and Kili respectfully distance themselves, physically as well as conversationally, crawling back to their previous seats and electing for whispering to one another rather than facing the others. Bilbo says nothing, and looks to no one. He stares down at his bowl, but like Thorin, he can’t stomach it. He’s alienated once again.

 

\--------------

 

The flames of the fire took forever to die, but eventually they dwindled, the flames licking at the last of the wood that served as it’s fuel, and slowly becoming nothing but ash. The group had split away from each other, their union during their meal ending as quickly as it could. Bilbo was partly relieved and partly fearful after seeing Thorin disappearing into the woods, melting into the darkness, and he was grateful to see the brothers slinking off together, to the edge of the camp, far away from him. He let out a breath, his headache still plaguing him. He was exhausted, and he longed for the days end. But he dreaded the dawn, and the frosty morning air and lover that may greet him.

  
Bilbo’s bedroll, already prepared, was nearer the centre of camp, close to Thorin’s. The king’s lay empty, and the hobbit doubted he would return that night. He despised that. He always enjoyed the quiet satisfaction of having his lover close, within arms reach at least. He particularly loved the times when they slipped away together, but the idea of that made Bilbo laugh bitterly. Even if Thorin forgave him despite his egoistical and prideful nature, he’d likely never trust him with his body or his heart again.

  
Bilbo sighs- whatever has he gotten himself into now?- and crawls into his bedroll, not bothering to call out a goodnight.

  
He doesn’t remember falling into an uneasy, unsatisfying slumber, but he must have. He suddenly awoke, jolting awake, feeling like he was falling. There was a silence now, no more voices or footfalls from the others. The chill had set in and the darkness had finished falling. They must have been long asleep. Bilbo considered rolling over, checking on Thorin’s bedroll and praying he had returned and hadn’t stubbornly stayed out alone. But then he felt a large, hot hand on his shoulder, and someone brusquely yanked him onto his back. Bilbo yipped in alarm, like a pup, his legs kicking out to weakly defend himself. It was pathetic, and utterly useless. A body threw itself over his, and straddled him. Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, maybe call for help.

  
Lips then roughly collided with his, dry and thin, eager and harsh. Bilbo froze for a split second, unsure of how to react, until he realized. He smiled, albeit hesitantly against his lover’s lips, and reached up to tug playfully at his braid before threading his hands through the black hair he almost immediately recognised. Their lips moved together with ease, and Thorin pressed closer. Their body heat arced into each other, and the cold chill of the night all but disappeared. The movements were frantic and lustful.

  
Eventually, Bilbo had enough, and placed a palm on the dwarf king’s chest. He pushed gently, but firmly, and after some hesitation he willingly moved away, breaking their kiss. It would have been easy for the dwarf to continue and resist the push, but he sits up willingly. Thorin keeps him pinned using his legs, however, and braces himself using his arms, his hands on either side of Bilbo’s head. He stares down at him, hard, as if trying to deliberately unnerve him.

  
Bilbo remembers things. Light things. Dark things. Wonderful things. Terrible things. His favourite things to remember are the dark, wonderful things. Like Thorin kissing him in an almost frantic way. Lips and teeth clashing violently and the brief struggle for dominance that followed, and the way the two of them both whine in pleasure. The way the mixture of cold air, Thorin’s warmth and his touches made him shiver. Thorin kissing his mouth, his chin, his tongue tracing his throat. The way Thorin lay beneath him, his legs up and his body bare. The two ravaging each other, weaving destruction on their sanity. The scent of his lover, the tang of sweat, a musk, wood maybe, and the overwhelming scent of leather. There was something else to, something indescribable, something purely Thorin.

  
The memory of Thorin being his, taking him in the forest, hearing his breathy pants and attempts at muting his cries of completion.

  
His eyes seem hard and serious, but he can see past it. He finds the affection and the love not quite hidden away, but not openly displayed. Bilbo smiles a little, his worries temporarily gone, and he takes hold of Thorin’s coat and pulls himself up, using his lover as an anchor. He kisses him, trying to express his apology another way, a way where he can maybe seem more sincere. Thorin seems to accept it, this time keeping it chaste, and dare he say, sweet. And when it ends, Thorin keeps his hands on his lower back and gently lowers him, following him down until they’re nose to nose.

  
Under his quiet judging gaze, Bilbo is hesitant and shy, but he reaches up and caress his lover’s jaw with the back of his knuckles, smiling up at him. He hopes desperately that he’s not assuming, or doing anything wrong. Thorin arches a dark brow and says nothing, but subtly presses his face into the hand, as if hoping he wouldn’t notice. He waits until the hobbit withdraws before speaking.

  
“You’ve humiliated me in front of my company,” He begins, and Bilbo visibly winces. He knew this was coming, but he hoped it wouldn’t be so soon and quite so bluntly stated. “They’re never going to forget this.”

  
“I know.” He returns, hating how foolish he sounds, like a child getting scolded by a parent and being made to promise it will never happen again. “I’m so sorry, it just came out. I know it’s irreversible, and all my apologies won’t do a thing, but I am.”

  
Thorin makes a low noise, one that Bilbo can’t place. It may have been a dismissive grunt, or a soft laugh. Either way, he shakes his head. “That’s true, in a way.” He muses, his eyes vacant as he thinks. “They’re my subjects, and they’re supposed to respect me. But…” His voice trails off, and he ends with a sigh.

  
Bilbo frowned. “They’re not going to stop respecting you because of something like this. Something natural.” He moves his hand, currently trapped between their bodies, and moves it, resting it above one of his own. Thorin turns his head away, gazing to his right, his eyes either carefully watching the slumbering, peaceful company and the looming, intimidating forest around them, or unseeing as Thorin thinks. Bilbo takes in his presence, fierce and dominating, powerful and prideful, unable to show weakness, and yet able to submit. At times. He watches in silence, wondering how Thorin’s mind works, how it creates his plans, how it controls his company. He wonders about the dwarf’s heart, too, and how often it longs for home, how it cries out for the past, and if it belongs to him. “If I may…” Thorin’s eyes flicker back to him, and his eyes are alive with interest. “Begging your pardon, but it they don’t respect you after this, they never respected you at all.”

  
His words are heavy, as they were intended, but they seem to strike home a little to hard. Thorin’s lips quirk and his faux laugh is dripping bitterness. He begins to speak, but Bilbo interrupts him.

  
“Don’t you dare start wondering how many of them respect you. My words were meant to console you, not sow seeds of doubt.” He scolds reproachfully, and Thorin bows his head, silenced. “These men respect you. Even your nephews, believe it or not.” Thorin manages a tiny chuckle, and Bilbo feels encouraged. “They’re following you and believing in you and following your orders. They want their home back. They want you to regain your throne. To be honest, what is the point of fighting for your home if you’re going to have a king you don’t love on the throne?” He doesn’t think about whether or not this is going to far, and for the second time that night, he simply says what he thinks. But with considerably greater results. “Thorin, you’re a fool.”

  
For a moment, Thorin is clearly stung, looking like his been stuck. His expression is wounded, and his dark eyes are huge in the moonlight- but he forces himself to settle, clearly trying to use reason, and eventually he smiles faintly.

  
Almost absentmindedly, Thorin’s hand brushes the hobbit‘s soft curls, and he leans forward to kiss his forehead. His lips trailed across his temple, down his cheek, and to his mouth. Bilbo remains teasingly unresponsive, waiting for him to speak, and he grunts, ending the kiss with an amused smile.

  
“You’re not as easy to charm as I thought you may be,” He looks admiring. “I thought you were a lot of things. I was wrong about every single one of them.”

  
Bilbo beams, and Thorin leans into kiss him once more.


End file.
